Thorin: the Dark World or A Fabulous Fight
by Sixty-four K
Summary: Thorin isn't about to let the Elvenking delay his noble quest for Erebor and the Arkenstone. After all, the dwarven prince has an impressive lineage and a magical weapon on his side. What does the Elvenking have? Nothing really. That puny staff that shoots bolts of blue magic has nothing on the mighty hammer Orcrist. Slightly AU. Oneshot- for now...


_**Hello, people! This is my first time writing a one-shot, as well as my first time writing Thorin. As always, I would appreciate your thoughts and criticisms. I'll try my best to reply to you.**_

 _ **I can't believe that no one ever had this idea before! It seemed too awesome to not write once I thought of it.**_

 _ **You have my respect if you recognize many or all of the quotes in this story.**_

 **Thorin: the Dark World** ** _or_** **A Fabulous Fight**

"Do I look to be in a gaming mood? How dare you hinder me in this quest?"

The Elvenking of Mirkwood sneered down from his throne towards his prisoner. "How dare I?" he repeated, snickering to himself. "I have seen worlds that you have never dreamed of. I wield powers that you could scarcely imagine. Thus, I dare to hinder you."

Thorin scowled."These privileges that you possess do not give you the right to rule over me," he said. "The throne suits you ill."

The Elvenking nodded, his smirk lessening. "You have grown perceptive, Odinson, in your exile. And yet," he continued, "you cannot have contrived of this quest on your own. Who controls the would-be king?"

"I am a king!" bellowed Thorin, menacingly reaching for the hilt of his weapon. "The rightful king of Erebor!"

"Your lineage, impressive though it may be, gives you no claim to the throne," said Thranduil. "I have heard tell that you decapitated your grandfather. Would this action not forfeit your right to the throne?"

"It was merely a statue of him- a mishap that occurred during weapons training," muttered Thorin. "It was an accident."

"The Majestic Thorin, indeed," sneered the Elvenking. "Indeed, the majesty with which you trip and fall, the grace with which you answer the simplest questions incorrectly overwhelms me."

"You dare insult my majesty?" roared Thorin. Flying furiously towards Thranduil, the dwarven prince drew his weapon, holding it towards the sky. Dark storm clouds came through the roof and spiralled around his weapon. "I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, son of Thor, son of Odin, son of Bor!" he proclaimed. "This is my majestic hammer, the mighty Orcrist, which you are not worthy to so much as touch! Now," he said. "Where is the Arkenstone?"

The Elvenking chuckled nervously. "I don't have it."

Lightning flashed in Thorin's eyes and about the head of his hammer. "You lie."

Thranduil shook his head. "You need the Arkenstone to claim the throne of Erebor, but I've sent it off I know not where."

Infuriated, Thorin swung Orcrist towards the Elvenking. The mighty blow, however, did not meet its mark. Thranduil swiftly blocked the blow with his own weapon, a smug smirk upon his fair elven face. "This is Gungnir," he announced. "With this staff, I shall slay thee."

Filled with satisfying, battle-fuelled fury, Thranduil and Thorin flew about the throne room, fighting with amazing skill. Flashes of lightning and bolts of blue magic filled the room. The two "would-be-kings" demonstrated their individual fighting styles with great panache- Thranduil executing flip after fabulous acrobatic flip, and Thorin uttering many majestic battle cries.

Suddenly, after one particularly awe-inspiring flip, Thranduil landed uncertainly. His foot slipped, and he fell off of the platform, which stood storeys above the ground. He managed to stop his fall just in time by grabbing the edge of the platform with one manicured hand. Thorin stood still in shock, staring at his hanging adversary.

"Thorin, please," whispered the Elvenking, staring up at the dwarf with angsty eyes.

Now, Thorin was not over-fond of elves, but he was a decent fellow, and would not allow anyone, not even an elf, to die a gravity-induced death. Therefore, he bent over to help his indisposed foe. Suddenly, the Elvenking laughed. The king of Mirkwood swung himself up over the ledge, doing a fabulous back flip over his stunned enemy. With an ironically merry laugh(a trait common to all elves), he prepared to shoot a bolt of magic towards the unprepared dwarf. Then, he stopped.

"Legolas wouldn't want us to fight," he said reluctantly.

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. "Neither would my company," he agreed, "although they wouldn't exactly be shocked."

"I'm having a party tonight," said Thranduil. "Let us discuss our differences over Dorwinion."

"Very well," agreed Thorin, secretly pleased at being invited to one of the Elvenking's fabulous parties. "As long as my companions are invited as well."

"Naturally," said the Elvenking.

"Very well," said Thorin again. "I thank you."

The Elvenking smiled evilly. "No," he said. "I thank _you_."


End file.
